Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Everything is okay. We’ll talk about it later tonight, but I have to be on hand here until it’s over. Do you want to go home and wait for me? Or go back to work?”
“I told you, I’m not leaving you. If you could just carry me around like a koala on a tree, that would be perfect.”
He grins and presses his lips to my forehead, giving me a little squeeze. “I don’t think that’ll work. You stay here, sit on this log, and do not go near any of these burning structures.”
“I was only running for the one that looked like it might have you in it.”
His eyes soften, and he presses his lips to mine. “Never do that again, either.”
“Fine, I’ll let your ass burn.”
Holden rolls his eyes, then points at me. “Stay.”
It’s a long day. I heard someone say that because of so many structures being in play, it takes a long time to get everything done that they want to. Bridger leads drills that I don’t understand. Around lunchtime, I go into town and get about twenty pizzas for anyone who’s hungry, and within twenty minutes, they’re all gone.
I guess they were hungry.
Finally, just when the sun is starting to set, some of the men start to climb onto firetrucks and pull away.
Bridger and his team of about five guys are the last to go. There’s no more steam coming up from any of the piles of ash, and he assures Holden that it’s all cold to the touch.
“I appreciate it,” Holden says, shaking Bridger’s hand. “I owe you.”
“We’re good.” Bridger looks over at me. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
“I thought my husband was being burned alive.” I have to swallow hard after saying that. “You tell me that you wouldn’t do the same.”
He mutters something about being a dumbass and stomps away.
“Let’s go home,” Holden says, holding his hand out for mine.
“Where’s your truck?”
“Out at the barn. I’ll get it tomorrow. For tonight, I want to ride home with you.”
I slip my hand into his, and he laces our fingers together before bringing them to his lips, and then he guides me to where someone relocated my car so it was out of the way for everyone to leave, I’m sure, and he puts me in the passenger seat.
When he lowers into the driver’s side, I’m still trying to push my seat belt into the buckle, but my hands are still shaky, and I keep missing.
Holden takes it from me and clips it into place, perfectly calm.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, holding my gaze with his.
“Let’s just get home.”
He nods, starts the car, and then drives us into town, to the little house that we rent from my brother and Polly.
Without a word, I cross through the house to the shower, strip down, and get into the hot water, washing away the day. When I’m dressed in sleep shorts and a tank, with my wet hair twisted up on my head, Holden gets in the shower to do the same.
Usually, one of us would either make a comment about joining the other in the water, or we would just help ourselves.
But neither of us is in that mood at the moment.
I’ve just poured Holden a shot of whiskey and myself a shot of tequila when he comes walking out in a pair of gray sweatpants and absolutely nothing on top. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this man is beautiful. With all that ink, those muscles, and the scruff on his face. That dark hair.
Did I mention the muscles and the ink? For fuck’s sake, he looks like he should be in a movie. Or on the cover of a magazine.
Hell, both.
“I can’t talk to you when you look like that.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Like what?”
I wave my hand in a large circle, indicating him. “That.”
My husband smirks and reaches for the whiskey. “I arranged with Bridger a week ago to burn all the buildings at the ranch.”
My eyes go wide as I lean against the kitchen counter across from where he leans against the sink. “Why?”
“Still getting those ghosts cleared out of there,” he replies. He’s almost too calm, as if it’s taking everything in him to fight the emotions running through him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He blinks and frowns down at his whiskey. “Because when I’m out there, taking care of business, I don’t think of you at all.”
Arrow, right to the heart. I can’t help the small gasp as hurt moves through me, and suddenly he’s against me, holding me, those blue eyes intense.
“I didn’t mean it how it sounded. I can’t think of you when I’m out there because it makes me panic.” That tightly reined-in control is slipping now. His eyes are hot, his hands tremble as he drags his fingertips down my cheek. “Because I have so much fucking baggage from that son of a bitch that when I think of you even considering stepping foot out there, I have a goddamn panic attack. He would have killed you, Millie, without thinking twice. Jesus.”